“Done! Here, you push awhile, you lazy beggar!”
“Lazy yourself,” answered Clif as he took the other’s place. “I should think, though, you’d be glad to keep the job, Tom. It isn’t every day you get the chance to be chauffeur to the consulting coach!”
After they had consigned Loring to the care of a relieved Wattles and were returning to West, Clif said: “How did you happen to think of that scheme, Tom? I’ll bet he can give us some mighty good tips, eh?”
“Oh, well; it can’t do us any harm, I guess.”
“Any harm?”
Tom turned on his companion a look of mild perplexity. “For goodness’ sake, Clif,” he replied, “you don’t suppose I really meant all that guff!”
“What did you say it for, then?” asked Clif indignantly.
“Because,” Tom answered equably, “I wanted to give the poor chap a little more interest in life. Didn’t you see how pleased he was? Why, as he said, it will be almost like playing the game himself. I like that chap, old son, and I want to do anything I can to—to—”
“Oh, you do? Then why try to make a fool of him? Don’t you suppose he will find out quick enough that you don’t really want his advice?”